The Hopelessness and Joy of Doing This
The whisperings and ways of thought are far too fast and deep to follow;
the air's too thin up here
yet that is where I am.
I try to trace the subtle routes
but every fingerpost I pass
looks like my hand.
I lose my place
and all begins again.
Such a fool I keep returning
back to thinking's cabinet.
I make an easy place and sit
to draw upon the claustric walls
imaginary windows open to it All.